How far would you go to help your nanny?

Your nanny–the one who is watching your newborn while you go to work–shows up at your house one day to say that she’s pregnant. You know there isn’t a husband, or even a boyfriend, in the picture.

You know this woman can hardly afford to take care of herself on the salary you’re paying her and you know there’s no way she could pay for all the stuff that goes along with having a baby. And you know, just by looking at her face, that she is keeping this child. You think this is a good thing because you know she’ll be a wonderful mother.

So what do you do? This is a woman who loves your child as if she were his mother, so you do everything you can. You give her all of your old baby stuff. You ask your friends for hand-me-downs. You give her some money when she needs to take time off to have the baby. You call her during her birth and talk to the nurse to make sure she’s getting proper care. You visit her at the hospital. And you invite her to come back to work with her newborn baby. And when your kid goes off to preschool, you bend over backwards to find her a new job because you worry about how she’s going to make money to put food on the table.

At least that’s what I did when the woman who was watching my 1-year-old son was pregnant. Thinking back on it, I’m realizing that I should have done more.

But what do you do when your Filipino nanny calls you sobbing and asking for help to rescue her family that’s stranded on a roof in the Philippines in the aftermath of two devastating typhoons? How do you help in this situation?

This is what Magda Schaler-Haynes, an attorney who lives with her husband and two children in Montclair, N.J., was recently faced with after typhoons “Ondoy” and “Pepeng” swept through the islands earlier this fall.

In a compelling story published on October 20 in The New Republic, Schaler-Haynes recounts the steps she took to help her nanny Marciel’s 7-year-old son, parents, sister, and several nieces, aunts, and cousins who were stranded on the second floor of a shaky 200-year-old house on the family’s farm compound, about a five-hour drive from Manila.

Schaler-Haynes starts by sending an email out to 70 friends. She attaches photos of Marciel’s family, asks “Do you know anyone in the Philippines who might be able to help?” and writes, “We will pursue options for private rescue.”

“I get 47 responses,” Schaler-Haynes writes. “The people I expected to respond all did; the people who didn’t don’t require my judgment, though I can’t hide my disappointment. I am equally touched by responses such as ‘I have no money and no contacts, perhaps I can donate clothes?’ and “Not having specific contacts to offer, I sent a lot of focused thought, white light, and uplifting energy’ as I am by the targeted offers of logistical or financial assistance.”

Schaler-Haynes’ friends provide contacts, and the contacts provide contacts. She talks to international rescue companies, and considers paying for an expensive rescue operation involving a helicopter, and she comes upon less-expensive options. She gets the names and numbers of three different Filipino helicopter pilots. She connects with the World Bank, FEMA, a Philippine senator.

Marciel’s family eventually finds a safe place in a neighboring house and Schaler-Haynes is able to provide a generator to supply electricity.

It’s worth reading Schaler-Haynes’ heartfelt story (Click here to read it) about her frenzied journey to try to help this family. It’s a story about compassion and moral duty. At times, she’s faced with big decisions: “Should I pay the $50,000 retainer for this international rescue company to send in a helicopter?” And the story seems to throw similarly tough questions back at you, How far would you go to help your nanny? What would you have done in the same situation?